


Silently

by Sophitia



Series: Of Saints and Stags [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pranks and Practical Jokes, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25065094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophitia/pseuds/Sophitia
Summary: Hanneman desperately wished he could say the trouble began on that battlefield. But no. It began, as it so often did, with what he said to Manuela afterward.---When a freak battlefield accident leaves Manuela voiceless, Hanneman finds himself speaking for the both of them.
Relationships: Manuela Casagranda/Hanneman von Essar, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Series: Of Saints and Stags [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546678
Comments: 31
Kudos: 82





	1. In Words

Hanneman von Essar had never been so entirely convinced he was dying.   
  
Seated in the dining hall, he coughed and gagged, reaching for a glass of water, a dinner roll, a stick of butter. Anything to get the foul taste out of his mouth.   
  
_Cause of death: poisoning.  
  
_ Across from him, his colleague-turned-general Byleth dipped a finger in the offending soup and tasted it.  
  
“A mild irritant, nothing more,” she declared, chuckling. “You’ll be fine, Hanneman. Claude used these herbs once to try to get out of an exam. His face looked much worse than yours after I made him take his test _while_ eating the ‘cookies’ he’d brought me.”  
  
His coughing fit passing, Hanneman carefully dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief. “As amusing as this may be to you, Professor, I demand we get to the bottom of this!”  
  
“Hanneman,” Byleth said quietly, slowly, as if he were one of her students. “I think we know _exactly_ who’s at the bottom of this. And I also think you both need to work this out for yourselves, once and for all.”  
  
Hanneman glanced at his number one suspect, seated at the end of the table. The suspect smirked, and gave a bouncy wave of her fingertips.  
  
_Cause of death:_ ~~_poisoning_~~ _Manuela Casagranda._

* * *

It had been years since Manuela graced an operatic stage - though exactly how _many_ years she refused to think about. But like it was yesterday, she could remember how commanding she felt in the blaze of the stage lights, the feverish intoxication of holding an entire audience in rapture with just her voice.  
  
Singing was so tied up in her feelings of power that even now her spell incantations were melodies, not just mere words.  
  
And maybe that’s why, during their most recent messy, muddy battle, she had been targeted so frequently by that day’s mage-heavy enemy. She wasn’t exactly a stealthy, hard-to-find unit; Manuela had been called a lot of things in her time, but subtle had never, _ever_ been one of them.  
  
Though she was far from the only mage on the field - Hanneman, Lysithea, and Dorothea were all within sight of her - Manuela was hit again and again with spells she was finding harder to shake.  
  
Knocked on her ass by a particularly strong Thoron, she knew immediately that something was very, very wrong when she felt the crackling of lightning tighten around her neck. The vibrating hums of her counter Bolting immediately died.  
  
_Silence too, then?  
  
_ Frustrated, Manuela blew out a breath as harshly as she could. She checked her supplies and stomped closer to cover. Silence never lasted more than a few minutes, she figured, and she wanted to be ready to get those bastards back as soon as her voice returned.  
  
Minutes passed - five, then fifteen, then the battle was over - but the electric vice on her throat never eased.  
  
_Well, fuck me to next Tuesday...  
  
_ No one took Manuela seriously - not with the way she looked or the way she acted or the state she kept her quarters in - but she knew she was a highly-skilled physician. The best this budding army had.  
  
So later, when Flayn and Mercedes were fussing over her and throwing theories back and forth, she had to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes, as she had already solved the mystery…  
  
...but she couldn’t tell a soul.

* * *

Hanneman desperately wished he could say the trouble began on that battlefield.  
  
But no. It began, as it so often did, with what he said to Manuela afterward.  
  
Hanneman had been distracted throughout the entire battle. Manuela had been hit several times that Hanneman could see, and then disappeared from view. As the dust settled around their victory, he searched for her, just wanting to make sure she was still...  
  
_Ah, there._ He pretended not to notice the warm rush of relief that started in his chest and bloomed outward when he finally found her.  
  
Manuela was seated on the back of a supply wagon, Flayn and Mercedes fussing after her. Hanneman saw the green glow of the same healing spells being cast over and over - what was going on?  
  
As he walked up, he noticed Manuela was unnaturally quiet.  
  
_Oh, goddess. She’s injured.  
  
_ His heart started pounding, and his steps quickened without thought.  
  
"...nothing I've ever seen before, Professor Manuela," he heard Mercedes saying as he got closer.   
  
"We can only guess the strength of this particular Thoron is causing the effects of Silence to prolong. They must have hit you at precisely the same time," Flayn hypothesized.  
  
Hanneman finally reached them and took Manuela’s hand, looking her over for obvious injury. She didn't spare him a glance, but squeezed his fingers briefly before letting go - _I'm fine.  
  
_ "I'm so sorry, Professor. Nothing is helping. We'll just have to wait for the spell to break on its own for your voice to return.” Hanneman hadn’t heard Mercedes sound so defeated in years, not since she’d been a student.  
  
Manuela looked at both her fellow white mages, her face panicked.  
  
Flayn smiled softly, reading the question in Manuela’s eyes. “Of course it will break, Professor. We just can’t tell when. Days? A week?”  
  
Finally understanding that she was - aside from her lost voice - whole and unharmed, Hanneman breathed a sigh of relief. With it, unbiddened, came his first thought.  
  
“I should have known you’d never be so blissfully quiet by choice!”  
  
He had never regretted any words so quickly. Mercedes and Flayn both retreated with wide eyes and mumbled excuses.  
  
Manuela’s eyes trained on him, darkened with rage. The ends of her hair gave off wisps of smoke, and he honestly couldn't tell if it was because of the Thoron she'd been hit with or her anger at him.   
  
The scientist in him was intrigued.   
  
The man... was terrified.

* * *

Since the foul soup - which Manuela had heard Hanneman refer to as “the first murder attempt” while she thought of it as “harsh but understandable justice” - there had been two more “incidents.”  
  
Manuela knew that while Hanneman was very aware the incidents were her doing, he’d never be able to prove it. The knowledge that she was beating him at this ridiculous game gave her some smug satisfaction - and a direly needed distraction from the Silence that had now lasted days.  
  
Who else would steal all of his black ink and replace it with fuschia? And who else would rearrange the books in his office by title length instead of subject then author?  
  
She was especially proud of that last one. The library looked, to an outsider, unchanged, but Hanneman saw the inner chaos immediately. It had driven him irrationally _insane_. In fact, Byleth had walked out of the room rolling her eyes before Hanneman could even finish complaining about what had been done.  
  
In the almost ten years since she had come to teach at Garreg Mach, she had felt every single human emotion possible when it came to Hanneman von Essar. She had hated him, she had respected him, she had loathed him…  
  
She had loved him.  
  
He was, in all the best ways, a nobleman. Though he had relinquished his title, he was still everything the gentry purported themselves to be - proper, polite, intellectual, kind, strong. He was so unlike every other nobleman she had been forced to flatter at the opera that she couldn’t help but be immediately smitten by his earnest nature. But he had made it clear that nothing offended him more than loud, brash, attention-seeking Manuela.   
  
In return, she had done the only thing she knew how to do when confronted with an obstacle: fought hard, fought loud, and fought dirty.  
  
Their arguments and spats were legendary. Hanneman knew exactly how to push her buttons, and she knew just where to hit him back. But even through a decade - _goddess, an entire decade_ \- of verbal sparring, nothing had ever hurt quite as much as his “blissfully quiet” after the battle.   
  
Manuela knew what she was doing was childish. She knew that. But hearing Hanneman confirm that her worst nightmare was his greatest wish _stung_. She couldn’t kill or maim him - they were in the middle of a war, needed all the soldiers they could get, and Byleth had already forbidden it - but she _could and would_ annoy the goddess-loving hell out of him.

* * *

A day after the library incident - the third of her pranks - Hanneman finally decided it was time to swallow his pride and stop living in fear of Manuela.   
  
It had taken him twelve hours to set his library back to rights, and another twelve hours to let go of the sharpest of his annoyance. He couldn’t keep losing entire days to her creative revenge.   
  
He knew he had to apologize but couldn’t find the right words. Truly, in that moment, he had just been so relieved to know she would be alright once the Silence spell broke.   
  
When his heart, clenched so tightly, released, it let down his inhibitions a little too far.  
  
Hanneman knew he had been in love with Manuela for years. At first he was, like most men, infatuated with the bold beauty, but thought nothing more of it. Over the years they’d both been teaching at the academy, however, he saw a part of her she tried so hard to hide - a kind, thoughtful, clever, devious side that challenged him in all the right ways.  
  
But Manuela had made it clear with both her actions and her words - she wanted anyone but Hanneman.  
  
So yes, his frustration with her came out in terrible ways. They egged each other on. They fought constantly. They glared across the hall at each other while sitting in their offices.  
  
Despite it all… Hanneman was sure he’d hidden his true feelings well.   
  
Recently, though, with the war and becoming a miserable old man visible on the horizon, it was getting harder and harder to see her and not be near her. To not keep her safe. To not shake her and convince her that together they could find the happiness they both sought.  
  
He sighed. An apology - and absolutely nothing more - it would be.

\---

A little later, he found her in her office and knocked gingerly on the door jamb.  
  
“Manuela, I’ve brought you some tea.”  
  
She scowled and rolled her eyes. But her face softened when she looked up and saw the careful balancing act he was doing with a tea tray full of pastries and sandwiches. After a moment, she sighed and waved him in.  
  
Hanneman set the tea tray down and took a seat. Manuela reached for a notepad next to her.  
  
"Yes, it's mint tea," he said immediately, pouring her a cup. Her hand stilled and she smirked.   
  
"'Hanneman, how do you know my favorite tea? Have you been spying on me?'” He guessed at her next words aloud, without mockery, hearing her reply so clearly in his head. He wasn’t surprised her melodic voice was well-ingrained in his mind.  
  
He glanced up at her, just to make sure he wasn’t digging himself into a deeper hole. Her face was carefully neutral, which was, at least, better than outright rage.   
  
“My dear Manuela,” he continued his side of the conversation. “We've worked together long enough for me to innocently notice these things. Though, in this case, I confirmed my hypothesis with our esteemed Professor, local tea preference expert."  
  
She gave him a small smile, and they sipped warm, sweet tea for a few moments.  
  
“Manuela, I…” Hanneman wasn’t used to his words failing him. But lately, around this hurricane of a woman, he couldn’t keep his thoughts straight.  
  
He looked at her again, and this time she tilted her head with a cocky look in her eyes and the ghost of a self-assured smile on her lips.  
  
His first instinct was to engage in their regular verbal sparring. It had only been a few days, but he already missed it.  
  
He thought better of it. He could only imagine how she felt - a songstress without a song. A teacher without a lecture. A doctor without consul.  
  
“Manuela, I am so sorry for what I said. You were assaulted so heavily and bore the brunt of the attack that day, and I was worried. Seeing you uninjured was such a relief and I… I quipped without thinking. I apologize.”  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him, as if looking for the lie on his face. After a beat she gave him a shrug, and then nodded.  
  
“I am forgiven, then?”  
  
Another nod.  
  
“...I can have my black ink back, then?”  
  
She gave him a dazzling smile. Her real smile, not her lopsided flirtatious grin. Hanneman’s entire countenance lit up at the sight of it.  
  
Then she shook her head.  
  
Hanneman couldn’t help but laugh. “You can keep my ink if that means my food won’t be poisoned again.”  
  
Manuela tapped her finger to her chin in thought. Nodding, she held out her hand. Hanneman shook it, then held on and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb.  
  
“The spell will wear off, Manuela,” he said quietly. “It is all going to be just fine.”  
  
She put her other hand on top of his for a moment, then pulled both of them back to wave them in a shrugging motion.  
  
“‘Yes, yes, I know how spells work, Hanneman. No need to patronize,’” he translated. She blinked at him and nodded slowly, surprised and appreciative.  
  
They reached for their tea cups again, and, for maybe the very first time, were both comfortable in the silence.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Brad Pitt is the same age as Hanneman?


	2. In Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How far gone was he now that the mere thought of disappointing Manuela was like a punch to the gut?

  
It was a quietest Sunday morning Garreg Mach Monastery had ever witnessed. Manuela, still suffering the ill effects of the rogue Silence, had been without her voice for four days.   
  
Hanneman was trying to keep busy, reorganizing research notes in his office. He and Linhardt von Hevring, once his student assistant and now his colleague, were knees-deep in a new project dedicated to enhancing the abilities of those with healing Crests. Currently, they were focused on testing Linhardt’s own minor Crest of Cethleann by...  
  
_Ka-THUNK!  
  
_ ....focused on testing Linhardt’s own minor Crest of Cethleann by…  
  
_Ka-THUNK!  
  
_ Hanneman stilled his fuchsia-inked pen, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and sighed.  
  
“Those had better be your own books, Manuela, and not any of mine you’ve pilfered!”   
  
He looked up in time to see Manuela seated at her desk across the hall from him, another hefty medical text balanced in her hand and ready to be catapulted at his open door. Seeing that she had finally gotten his attention, she waved him over to her.  
  
Hanneman looked down at his work and resumed his fluorescent note taking. “If you need something, Manuela, my door is always open,” he tossed back to her.   
  
He heard a long, loud exhale of frustration. She gathered up a stack of papers and stomped over to his office. She stopped in his open doorway, her free hand on her hip and her face full of annoyance.  
  
“Why, hello, Manuela. What a surprise to see you!” he said cheerfully. In all his years, he hadn’t really been one to partake in sarcasm - but lately, while employing Manuela’s voice, he was finding he had a taste for it.   
  
Even when muted she was a terrible influence on his manners.  
  
With a huff she came around his desk to stand at his elbow. Manuela was never content to sit across the desk from him, in the chairs he provided for precisely that purpose; no, she always had to stand behind him, leaning over his shoulder, giving him no room to catch his breath, brushing against him...  
  
It infuriated him, and he never wanted it to stop.  
  
“What can I help you with, my dear?” Hanneman tried to sound as unaffected as he could.  
  
Manuela set her neat pile in front of him and tapped on the top page. He recognized it instantly - he had a copy, as well. It was a schedule for the month, put together by their commanders Claude von Riegan and Byleth, listing training sessions, duty rosters, and war council meetings.  
  
With a quick scan, Hanneman saw where Manuela’s concern lay.  
  
“You are aware the Professor still has you down for teaching a healing magic seminar today, yes?”  
  
She nodded and then looked down at her shoulder. _Yes, but obviously…  
  
_ “I’m sure Byleth would have no issues switching instructors, or even topics for the day. I’m surprised it has not been done so already.”  
  
Manuela shook her head furiously.  
  
“You still want to teach it?”  
  
An enthusiastic nod.  
  
“But you require assistance.” Oh, he started to see where this was going when she gave a small, contrite nod.  
  
“You require _my_ assistance,” he said flatly. She grinned and bobbed her head.  
  
She pulled away the schedule to reveal her lesson plan and notes for the hour-long seminar: _ta-da!  
  
_ Hanneman was shocked to see how orderly it was. He had assumed - in error, it appeared - that Manuela ran her classes as haphazardly as she did the rest of her life. But he could see from her notes this wasn’t the first time such care had gone into her lessons.  
  
“My apologies, Manuela. I would be honored to help you, I would, but I have no experience in Faith magic. I would be a poor substitute to your knowledge.”  
  
He turned and looked up at her, and found her with her hands on her hips, staring daggers at him. She pointed violently to a note she’d scrawled and circled in a bottom corner on the lesson plan: _“you’ve been researching healing crests with Lin don’t act like you don’t know anything about faith magic!!!”  
  
_ He looked back up at her in an instant, surprised. “How did you…?”   
  
Manuela narrowed her eyes at him and leaned forward. Her lips pursed with impatience and he heard her reply clearly: _I’m not an idiot, that’s how._ She held her hands palms up and gestured in a wide circle around his office.   
  
Hanneman looked around and finally took everything in as a whole - his walls and boards were absolutely covered in notes about recovery magic and late-night scrawls on potency and drawings of healing-based Crests. His eyes stopped, embarrassingly, on the heading of a list he had written on a chalkboard just the day before: _“Similarities in Form and Functions of Faith and Reason Magics.”  
  
_ “Ah, well, yes, I suppose I am a bit more knowledgeable on the subject now, but I could hardly…” His voice trailed off as he watched her face fall.   
  
How far gone was he now that the mere thought of disappointing Manuela was like a punch to the gut? He reconsidered. Seminars only did last an hour, and were much less formal than real lessons...  
  
“Oh, alright, Manuela.” His heart flipped as she grinned and clapped her hands giddily. Acquiescing to her desires was quickly becoming a danger to his health.  
  
He held up a silencing finger. “I will assist with the seminar on _one_ condition.”  
  
She nodded vigorously.  
  
“My ink,” he demanded, in as severe a voice as he could muster. “Seteth said you took _all_ the black ink in the monastery, just to keep me from finding any.”  
  
Manuela immediately laughed, radiant but silent. Hanneman couldn’t help a small smile, as he remembered the beautiful chiming sound of her unrestricted laughter. Reaching deep into her robe pockets, Manuela pulled out two bottles of deep black ink and set them carefully on his desk.  
  
Hanneman sighed and stroked his mustache - he wasn’t the only one that had been reading minds, it seemed, and he had just been played like a fiddle.  
  


* * *

  
  
Though she and Hanneman had worked together as professors at Garreg Mach for years, they had never worked _together_ . As strange as it was, Manuela was downright nervous about showing him her lesson plan.  
  
Most of her Saturday night was spent adapting her already-completed lesson to a tag-team effort for her and Hanneman. She had seen the evidence of his new research all over the walls of his office (and, once, all over the arms of his suit when he fell asleep on research notes that hadn’t yet dried). She knew he could handle most of the theoretical explanations while she plotted out graphs and drew out incantations.  
  
When she finished plotting it all out and then spent an additional hour polishing it, she finally realized what was happening.  
  
She desperately wanted Hanneman to think her a good teacher. She wanted him to be proud of her. She wanted to be more than a pretty harlot to him.   
  
To _Hanneman.  
  
_ Manuela had thought her ridiculous crush had run its course, but lately it seemed like their relationship had taken a new turn. They hadn’t fought for an entire day, and it had been at least two since Hanneman last accused her of attempted murder. There was a new, delicious static in the air every time he was near, and she could almost, _almost_ see some emotion behind his stupid, stony face.  
  
She found herself - shockingly, bewilderingly - preferring his company to all others.  
  
There was the additional issue of all the _coddling._ In the days since the forever-Silence hit, Manuela had been taken off duty after duty by Byleth and Claude in an attempt to give her time to “rest” and “heal” and “take a breather.” But, dammit, Manuela didn’t want a breather, she wanted her voice back - and there was nothing to do about that except wait and hope and drink far too much. Manuela felt worse than a ditzy mage now - she was a useless one.   
  
This seminar was a chance to still prove she could fulfill her obligations… even if she needed a little help to do so.  
  
So, to those ends she had found herself in her office, on a Saturday night of all times, doing _homework_ when there wasn’t even an officer’s academy anymore. She’d say it was Hanneman’s fault, if he had known anything about it.  
  
On Sunday, after she strong-armed him into helping with the lecturing parts of her lecture, they spent the rest of the morning going over her notes. Hanneman found a section that lead directly into a few of the early conclusions his and Linhardt’s research had drawn, so those were added. And, once Hanneman realized Manuela could still do a few minor nonverbal spells, he talked her into adding that as well.  
  
“It’s timely, Manuela, and will add a great weight to the importance of learning these skills,” he implored her. She agreed with his reasoning, and, honestly, just loved a good excuse to show off.  
  
When they were as ready as they would ever be, they packed up in mutual silence to make their way to the classroom. Manuela couldn’t help but be distracted by Hanneman’s elegant hands and fingers, so fastidiously ordering and re-ordering his notes. What could those hands do, she wondered, if divested of their prim white gloves…  
  
_This is no good,_ she thought. _Get your shit together, Manuela.  
  
_ And, wouldn’t you know it, the _“Basic Healing: Magics and Methods”_ seminar went better than Manuela could have hoped. She and Hanneman worked together seamlessly, effortlessly switching back and forth between her written portions on the chalkboard and his spoken explanations. Hanneman did have an excellent grasp on faith magics, and further, understood the lessons Manuela was trying to impart.  
  
They were, to the surprise of themselves and their entire audience, an excellent team.  
  


* * *

  
  
Another day passed, and still not a peep from Manuela.  
  
Hanneman had taken to distracting himself with evening walks around the monastery grounds. The scars left from their defeat at Emperor Edelgard’s hands were still great, and Hanneman found them to be a sobering and grounding sight.  
  
Hearing faint music, he made his way to the ruined chapel - still missing half a roof - expecting to see the choir monks and priestesses practicing for weekly services. Instead of a subdued choir, he found a stringed quartet made up of soldiers playing not a religious dirge but a lively waltz.  
  
The quartet had a single audience member, as well. Manuela was seated a few rows back, enjoying the soft music floating on the wind. Her eyes were closed, and she was completely still aside from the dancing of her fingers.  
  
Hanneman quietly took a seat next to her, and smiled at her. Knocked out of her trance by the movement, she glanced over at him and, embarrassed, clasped her hands together.  
  
“Good evening, Manuela. Enjoying the music?”  
  
A small nod, then she purposefully looked forward and held her chin a little higher.  
  
“A piece you’ve sung before, I’d wager?”  
  
An almost imperceptible nod, full of sadness and regret.  
  
“It is very beautiful.”  
  
One of her eyebrows jerked up quickly. _Of course it is.  
  
_ Hanneman chuckled and bravery bubbled out of him before he could think better of it. “You may not be able to sing at the moment, my dear Manuela, but you can still dance.” He rose, stepping out of the pew and holding his hand out to her. “Do me the honor?”  
  
Manuela’s eyes darted incredulously back and forth from his face to his outstretched hand.  
  
His voice grew soft. “It is not pity, Manuela. I never had the opportunity to dance with you at the last Heron Ball, after all.”  
  
She cocked her head and smiled. Placing her hand gently in his, she rose.  
  
Hanneman’s head finally caught up to his heart when he pulled her close, shifting her hand in his and placing his other high on her waist. She was so soft and warm beneath his touch. He couldn’t remember the last time he had danced with a woman, much less one as graceful as Manuela.  
  
The quartet seemed to relish having an active audience, and began playing with gusto.  
  
She followed his lead without hesitation, as if their years of trading verbal vitriol had just been dress rehearsal for this one perfect dance. Step by step they whispered across the intricate stone floor, pockmarked by past violence, elbows held high.   
  
His eyes were soft as he gazed into hers. She really was a beautiful woman. Hanneman knew she was well aware of that fact, but he wasn’t so sure she knew how disarming her caramel eyes could be, or how alluring the small movements of her fingers in his were, or how much his hand at her waist itched to go roaming.  
  
Blast it all - one minute with this stunning creature in his arms and he was reduced to a daydreaming adolescent. He needed to keep it together.  
  
"'My, my, Hanneman,’” he said while looking past her. “‘You sure are light on your feet for such an old codger.' Why thank you, Manuela. I may have renounced my noble title but I kept one or two of the more useful skills."  
  
He looked down again to find her smiling at him. Goddess, her smile would be the weapon she finally killed him with.  
  
“It’s easy to be light on your feet when one’s partner is so enchanting,” he told her earnestly. Hanneman couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a faint blush on her cheek as she theatrically rolled her eyes and looked away from him.   
  
The feel of Manuela in his arms was a heady magic that Hanneman was quickly succumbing to. For years, he had been convinced that his research would be his only companion in life, but this madness was igniting a desire he thought long ago extinguished.  
  
He smiled, pushing her gently into a graceful spin that left him breathless. When he reached out for her and pulled her back into his embrace, the heat building inside him did the leading. He let his hand run down her side before settling on her hip - far too low to be proper - running his thumb in one, two, three lazy circles on her waist.  
  
Manuela’s grip tightened in his as her steps slowed. Hanneman immediately stilled his hand on her hip and opened his mouth to make his apologies for his irrational and forward behavior.  
  
The words stopped in his throat, however, when Manuela took a step forward to press herself against him. Her head tilted further back to meet his eyes again - fire in her gaze and a coy smile on her lips.  
  
He had seen her give that look before… but always to other men.  
  
Hanneman’s heart was racing. She couldn’t possibly...  
  
But in that moment, with his head spinning from floating across the room and her warmth seeping through his stuffy suit and her breath ghosting on his skin and her gaze focused on his mouth, he was hard pressed to come up with another logical explanation.  
  
“Manuela… I…” He brushed his lips against hers, scarcely a touch, his breath coming faster and faster, mingling with hers. He didn’t even realize when the music stopped.  
  
“Oh, professors!” The quartet’s lead barreled towards them excitedly, causing both Manuela and Hanneman to drop their hands and jump away from each other. “That was so lovely, we haven’t had an audience before! Thank you!”  
  
Hanneman hadn’t taken his eyes off Manuela’s. Her face had slipped from half-lidded bliss to confusion, and he knew whatever spell had created that moment… was broken.  
  
By the time he caught his breath, Manuela was gone.  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only fair that I let you know that Manuela is the same age as


End file.
